


Seven

by chamyl



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Ask and ye shall receive, Blow Jobs, Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Celestial Powers, Crowley asked and he RECEIVED, Domestic Bliss, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Love, M/M, Marathon Sex, Multiple Orgasms, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Post-Almost Apocalypse (Good Omens), Top Aziraphale (Good Omens), Top Crowley (Good Omens), Wings, maybe classifiable as, not all that metaphysical when it comes down to it, they switch fight me, very indulgent metaphysical sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-09
Updated: 2019-08-09
Packaged: 2020-08-13 18:13:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20178571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chamyl/pseuds/chamyl
Summary: “Actually, the fact that it’s forbidden is a point in its favour. I intend to make the absolute most of my newfound freedom.” Aziraphale blinks, and Crowley could swear he saw something wicked surface and disappear in those pale blue eyes of his. “Dearest, you can close your mouth now. You look quite like a fish out of water.”Crowley does close his mouth. “I—you—I just—I was not expecting you to agree so quickly.”Aziraphale steps closer to him, putting a hand on his cheek. “Why would I ever deny you something you want?” Crowley decides to be gracious and not point out Aziraphale has a long history of doing exactly that. But that wasbefore. This isnow.~~~Crowley asks Aziraphale to use his angelic powers on him in bed.Of course, because this is Crowley, he does not realize he’s in way over his head until it’s too late.





	Seven

**Author's Note:**

> Only God can judge me, but she’s too busy playing games with the universe.

> _"Beside me, appeared an angel in bodily form [...] In his hands I saw a great golden spear, and at the iron tip there appeared to be a point of fire. This he plunged into my heart several times […] it penetrated to my entrails. […] The pain was so severe that it made me utter several moans, and yet such pain was so exceedingly sweet that one cannot possibly desire it to cease. This is not a physical, but a spiritual pain, though the body has some share in it – even a considerable share ..." (St Teresa of Avila, 1515-1582)_

Crowley is ready. He’s done his research. He’s gathered his material. He’s going to go for it.

He hears Aziraphale’s steps shuffling upstairs, in the room of their cottage dedicated to his collection of books.

He takes a deep breath. He’s prepared a whole speech and everything. There will never be a better moment than this to ask.

So he picks up the stack of paper he’s clipped together, checks his hair in the mirror one last time, and makes for the stairs.

Aziraphale is tidying up. He does it sometimes, although Crowley is not sure the room ever looks any cleaner or more organized when he’s done with it. He has his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, which Crowley thinks is hot, and he’s wiggling happily to some classical music he’s listening to, which Crowley, despite himself, finds exceedingly adorable.

Mostly, Crowley is just frustrated his angel could manage to look so attractive and innocent at the same time, making _him_ feel like the pervert. Especially since they’ve had the chance to establish, beyond reasonable doubt, Aziraphale is definitely the more, well, _creative_ between the two of them.

Aziraphale gives him a smile like sunshine when he sees him, white-blonde hair caught in the evening light filtering through the window. Crowley feels like the luckiest fucker on the planet. He rolls up the stack of paper his hands – and Aziraphale’s gaze drops to it.

“What have you got there, Crowley?”

“I, uh, ah, it’s a…” Hasn’t he prepared something to say? “It’s a picture of The Ecstasy of Saint Theresa by Bernini. And… stuff.”

Excellent speech, truly.

Aziraphale lifts both eyebrows. “And why do you have it?”

“Right. You, uh… you’ve seen it, I take it?”

“I was in Rome when he was working on it, yes. I saw it several times, both back then and when it was finished. Remarkable work of art.”

“What about Blessed Ludovica Albertoni? Have you seen that one?”

“It doesn’t come to mind right now, no. Why do you ask?”

Crowley flips through the pages, getting it for Aziraphale. It looks very similar to The Ecstasy of Saint Theresa – the white marble shaped like a woman with her head thrown back, her mouth open, a hand on her breast, an unmistakable expression of pure pleasure on her face.

“And I have found many, many others like this one.” He studies Aziraphale’s face. “My point is—throughout all of history, angels have been doing this. I have a lot of evidence on the matter. It’s all here.”

He waves the papers in his hand. Aziraphale tilts his head, giving him a pointed look.

“Before you say anything,” Crowley continues, quickly walking in circles around the angel. “Let me talk. I know it’s forbidden. But honestly, I think it’s forbidden just because humans are fragile, you need to be careful with their mortal bodies. Besides, the upper spheres don’t want anyone to enjoy themselves, the uptight bastards. But that’s not important right now. The thing is, even without permission, I mean—now, you wouldn’t need permission, would you? Since you’re free. So, let’assume that you had a willing subject… most likely, no one would even know, right? So if—”

“Yes.” Aziraphale cuts him off. “We can do it.”

“I knew you were going to say that. But if you let me just—” Crowley stops dead in his tracks. “Wait. Did you just say yes?”

“It seems that I did.” Aziraphale gives him a small smile. “Like you said, it is a forbidden practice. I’m a free angel now. I don’t see why not.”

Crowley looks at him, stunned.

“Actually, the fact that it’s forbidden is a point in its favour. I intend to make the absolute most of my newfound freedom.” He blinks, and Crowley could swear he saw something wicked surface and disappear in those pale blue eyes of his. “Dearest, you can close your mouth now. You look quite like a fish out of water.”

Crowley does close his mouth. “I—you—I just—I was not expecting you to agree so quickly.”

Aziraphale steps closer to him, putting a hand on his cheek. “Why would I ever deny you something you want?” Crowley decides to be gracious and not point out Aziraphale has a long history of doing exactly that. But that was _before_. This is _now_. “I will do it. Assuming… if you think you can take it, that is.” Aziraphale’s eyelashes flutter, and there it is again, that mischievous flash in the angel’s eyes – it makes Crowley weak at the knees.

“I can take it.” He replies, without thinking, staring into Aziraphale’s eyes.

“If you’re certain.” The angel says, with the smile of someone who _knows better_. He goes back to his books, gently shooing him with a hand. “Now be a dear and let me finish my work here.”

* * *

As soon as Crowley leaves, Aziraphale takes the chance to recall anything he can remember about the ancient, forbidden practice of giving ecstasy. He’s never tried it himself before, but he knows how it works.

When all is said and done, the humans will wax lyrical about the Grace of the Lord and other spiritual bullshit, but all the angels know the actual truth of it. They aren’t supposed to talk about it among themselves, but the whispers will travel far and wide. Humans made absolutely incoherent with pleasure. Wave after wave of _ecstasy_ – or orgasms, in less angelic terms. An utterly overwhelming physical experience, a precious gift to be bestowed only on a selected, lucky few.

Of course, Crowley is throwing himself at it without thinking twice. He’s always been like this; Crowley never had any fear for uncharted territories. Aziraphale is quite sure his demon doesn’t fully understand what he’s getting himself into. He smiles to himself. Possibly, this is not the most sensible thing he’s ever agreed to do, but Crowley makes him reckless like that.

Besides, how could he say no to his demon? Crowley, who always says yes to him, who’s always said yes to him. Crowley, who _anticipates_ what he might want or need, so eager to please him. Crowley, who thoroughly enjoys spoiling him rotten, who gets off on the feeling of knowing he’s thoroughly satisfied him.

Not to mention, it’ll be quite the show for Aziraphale too, if he’s being completely honest with himself. To have his lover undone under his touch, unravelled in his hands…

He fingers the collar of his shirt, feeling very warm.

* * *

Aziraphale doesn’t come to sleep every night. When he’s tired, Crowley kisses Aziraphale goodnight and goes to sleep. Sometimes, the angel follows him, and sometimes he doesn’t.

Crowley has already fallen asleep when Aziraphale steps into the bedroom. The demon wakes up when Aziraphale’s familiar warmth presses against his back, a strong arm circling his waist. Crowley interlaces their fingers, making a pleased sound, his eyes heavy and his breathing calm.

And he’d be able to fall back asleep, just like that, if it wasn’t for their earlier conversation. He thinks back on Aziraphale’s smile as he said he’d enjoy doing something _especially_ because it’s forbidden. The memory sends a shiver down his spine. God, he loves it so much when Aziraphale breaks the rules. He shifts, pressing against the angel’s body. Aziraphale takes the hint.

“Crowley?” The angel’s voice is soft in the darkness of the room. “Would you like to…”

“Yes.” Crowley replies immediately, turning around in his arms. “I would.”

“Do you know how it works?” Aziraphale asks him, a certain cautiousness to his voice.

“Broadly.” Crowley replies, shifting closer. “I never did it myself. I was kicked out before the Earth was created.”

Aziraphale cups his cheek with his hand. “It will be overwhelming, I hope you’re aware of it.”

“Shit, I sure hope so.” Crowley grins at him, then sees Aziraphale’s relentlessly serious expression and changes his tune. “You can do anything to me. I want you to.”

Satisfied with the answer, Aziraphale focuses. “So… there will be seven phases to it.”

Crowley groans. “What is it with the number seven?”

“Oh, don’t complain now. At least it’s not six hundred and sixty-six.”

“Sure, sure,” Crowley replies in a mocking tone. “That would take all night, and surely we don’t want that.”

“Crowley.” Aziraphale takes one of his hands in his. “You won’t be left unsatisfied. Believe me.”

“I do not doubt you, angel.” Crowley bites his lower lip in anticipation as he lies on his back with a grin on his face. “Ready when you are.”

Aziraphale nods. He puts a hand on Crowley’s chest, fisting his shirt – when he yanks it back, Crowley is naked and his pyjamas and underwear are folded neatly on the bedside table. The demon snaps his fingers to get rid of Aziraphale’s clothes too, although he’s much less prim about it, and they just end up hanging on the back of a chair.

Aziraphale gives his hand a firm squeeze. Then, he leans closer and whispers into his ear.

“Be not afraid.”

* * *

First comes healing.

The warmth spreads from the point where Aziraphale is touching his hand. It finds nothing wrong in Crowley’s body, his physical vessel being unnaturally healthy. So it settles into his shoulders, relaxing the knots it finds there, one by one. It wraps around his hips, erasing a bruise Aziraphale’s teeth left there a few days ago. It travels down, all the way to his toes, taking away the tension in the arches of his feet.

Crowley breaths out, his body made loose and soft, pliant like warm butter.

* * *

Second comes grounding.

It starts at his feet. He feels his heels sinking into the mattress. The bed beneath him is suddenly impossibly soft, perfectly hugging his ankles in a way it’s not supposed to be able to do. The feeling embraces his legs, the curve of his ass, his back, his arms, the back of his head. He feels a low moan escape his mouth as every part of his body that touches the bed is cradled and coddled.

When it’s done with him, Crowley is sinking into the mattress, eyes closed, head abandoned into the pillow, lips parted.

* * *

Third comes heat.

His extremities begin to tingle. Sparks start at his hands and feet. They move up and up, through his arms and legs. Warmth rushes to the centre of his body, making him gasp out loud. His cock begins to fill, untouched.

“Fuck…” He grasps at Aziraphale’s hand, eyes open wide. “_Yes_.”

* * *

Fourth comes bliss.

Crowley would think this is his favourite part so far – if he were able to think at all.

The energy coursing through his body is familiar and safe. It’s Aziraphale’s. Crowley can feel it clearly, it belongs to Aziraphale no differently than his perfect hands or his lovely lips belong to him. But it has no physical form.

And since it has no physical form, it has no limits.

It searches his body, finding every single spot that’ll rip moans from his throat – it knows him already, because Aziraphale has explored and claimed every nook and corner of his body many times.

All at once, lovingly and ruthlessly, it presses against his lips, scratches at his back, bites on his neck, grips at his hips, wraps around his cock, pushes into his body. It leaves him breathless and , writhing on the bed, turning around to be taken into Aziraphale’s arms. Overwhelming, the angel had said – _overwhelming doesn’t begin to cover it_. Crowley is on fire, every sensitive part of him under attack, hips bucking madly against Aziraphale’s soft thigh. When the angel kisses him, his slick, hot tongue adding to all the other sensations – he all but loses it.

He must cry out Aziraphale’s name, maybe, he’s not sure – all he knows is that whichever way he turns, whichever way he moves, he’s still helpless, thoroughly ravished by _something_ he can’t even see, front and back, over and under, inside and out, until the pressure becomes too much to bear and he arches his back, starkly aware of Aziraphale’s tongue lapping at his throat as he comes, making a mess all over the angel’s thigh and stomach, toes curling and fingers grasping desperately at his lover.

* * *

Fifth comes Love.

It breaks him apart and makes him anew. It gives him no time at all to pull himself back together. It goes straight for his heart, turning his soul around like a pebble. Aziraphale sees everything, every part of him, the good, the bad – especially the bad. He lights him up from the inside, forgiving everything in a blink.

Crowley is vaguely aware he’s moaning again, presses tightly against the angel’s body, his sounds muffled by Aziraphale’s lips on his.

“Angel…” Aziraphale has told him many times, in many ways, how much he loves him – but no words compare to feeling it inside burning him like this. “_Angel_.”

Crowley is not sure what he’s asking. Not to stop, never to stop. If he’s drowning, he wants to keep sinking.

Aziraphale reaches between them and Crowley realizes he’s hard again, never stopped being hard maybe – and this time, it has nothing to do with his filthy demonic powers. No, this is something else, taking control of his body and deciding it will be done with him only when it can’t squeeze another drop of pleasure out of him.

He pulls himself up on his hands and knees, although his legs threaten to give out from under him.

“Good Lord, you’re so _beautiful_.” Aziraphale’s voice is low, and hoarse, and it breaks on the last word. Crowley looks at him in disbelief. If he’s beautiful, he’s a beautiful mess, shaking, wet with come and sweat, hair in disarray, heart beating wildly in his chest, out of breath.

Aziraphale reaches up to run his thumb along the corner of his open lips, at the same time as he presses into the slit on the head of his cock with his other hand.

“Again, love, finish again for me. Come on.” His hand is wrapped around Crowley’s cock, pumping him hard and good. All Crowley manages is a strangled sound before he explodes through the angel’s fingers.

* * *

Sixth comes pain.

Crowley wouldn’t be able to explain how it can hurt so much and yet be so sweet. He cries out as it rips through him, setting his nerve-endings on fire. Aziraphale holds him close, an arm around the small of his back and another around his shoulders, a hand caressing the back of his head. Crowley feels the sting of tears at the corners of his eyes, and Aziraphale is there for him, kissing him through it, calming him down with loving words whispered into his ear.

When it’s over, Aziraphale wipes his eyes with the soft pads of his thumbs as Crowley kisses him, deep and tender, cradling the angel’s face in his hands.

* * *

Seventh and last comes ecstasy.

The pain dissipates quickly, and Crowley is wrecked once again when shocks of pleasure zip through his body. Any discomfort evaporates from his limbs. It’s back to bliss – even stronger, this time. Wave after wave, rocking through him, it makes him utter curses and pleas and _fuck, yes, please, yes, yes, angel, _until he’s reduced to moans and whimpers, holding tight to his angel, who holds him back just as tight.

* * *

His reckless, beautiful demon. They’re making a mess, and Aziraphale discovers he doesn’t care one bit. Not even a little. Actually, he wants to make more. He’s carried Crowley through all seven stages, and now there’s nothing but the vast expanse of pleasure awaiting him.

And still, despite barely holding himself up, Crowley rises again to his hands and knees. He shakes, but he brings himself down between the angel’s thighs, leaning over to take him into his mouth.

Aziraphale lets out a sigh and relaxes into the bed, hand reaching out to caress Crowley’s hair. It doesn’t escape him that one of Crowley’s hands is wrapped around his own cock, stroking himself as he sucks him off. Crowley moans loudly around him, his voice trembling against Aziraphale’s skin. There’s no finesse to his movements, not today – only pure hunger and need. That Crowley is managing to do this at all is a testament to his will, the same that drove him through a wall of fire unscathed. That he doesn’t stop even as he spills into his own hand is extraordinary. That he keeps going until it’s Aziraphale who loses all control and thrusts up against the roof of his mouth is proof of how dedicated he is to making his angel feel good. Even now, when this was supposed to be just for him.

But, as Aziraphale has learned at this point – there’s nothing Crowley loves more than him, nothing he enjoys more than giving his angel pleasure. And he can have him, all of him – his body, his love, his soul, anything he desires. Aziraphale has long since given up trying to pretend he’s not completely his.

* * *

At some point, right before his fourth or fifth orgasm – he’s lost count – Crowley realizes his wings have unfurled, knocking down the lamp on the bedside table. Aziraphale, beneath him, lips around his cock, reacts with an amused chuckle. He grabs at Crowley’s ass and tries to pull him deeper into his mouth, his head trapped between the mattress and the demon’s hips.

Crowley gathers his wings close to his sides. He gives a sharp flap of his wings upwards, pushing himself further down into the angel’s mouth. Aziraphale gives an appreciative sound, and doesn’t chuckle anymore after that.

* * *

An unquantifiable amount of time has passed. Crowley’s gaze manages to focus on one of the wood beams of the exposed ceiling of their bedroom. He’s lying on his back, Aziraphale on top of him, slowly fucking himself onto Crowley’s hard cock. Still hard, despite – _everything_. Not too long ago Aziraphale was inside him, thrusting into him at the same slow, painstakingly slow pace. He’d gently pressed Crowley’s head into the mattress, angling him just so, with his ass up in the air. He’d grabbed him at the hips, disseminating kisses all along his spine before joining their bodies. And then he’d started plunging into him slow and hard, showering him with compliments and praise with each push of his cock. Until he couldn’t talk anymore, until Crowley couldn’t understand words anymore.

Crowley realizes now his blessed mistake: the humans who received the gift of ecstasy did not get it while simultaneously being fucked through it by the most hedonist angel Heaven could offer. Crowley must be the only one. He nearly laughs at his epiphany – he really is the luckiest fucker on the planet.

He palms at the angel’s hips, picking up the pace. Aziraphale is not the only one who knows Crowley inside and out, the reverse is also true. He tilts his hips at the angle that makes Aziraphale howl, sinks the nails of one hand into a plump thigh, wraps the other around him and strokes strong and steady until the angel writhes and clenches around him, coming all over his chest.

He follows him soon, spilling into him before falling back, completely and utterly spent, but with his trademark shit-eating grin on display on his face.

* * *

Aziraphale, throughout history, has attended many rich, lavish banquets. None of them holds a candle to the feeling of satisfaction and happiness he’s experiencing now, as the sun begins to dawn over their lovely cottage.

They’re in the tub, and Crowley has nodded off, back against the angel’s chest, the angles of his tired body perfectly bracketed between Aziraphale’s round thighs. Aziraphale lets him rest. Every few minutes, he makes sure the water stays hot and the pearly bubbles of soap maintain their perkiness.

After a while, Crowley stirs, steadying himself, both hands on the angel’s knees.

“Hello.” Aziraphale smiles at him, lips against his ear.

“Hmm.” Crowley replies, blinking himself awake. “You cleaned me.”

“I cleaned _us_, yes.”

“In the human way.” Crowley points out.

“In the human way.” Aziraphale scoops up a bit of foam in his finger, leaving it on the tip of Crowley’s nose. Crowley doesn’t seem to notice, or just doesn’t mind. “Isn’t it nice?”

The demon relaxes again into his chest, letting out a satisfied hum. “Guess so.” He looks at Aziraphale out of the corner of his eyes. “Hey, angel, uh. How many times did I… _y’know_.”

“You choose the most peculiar moments to be bashful.” Aziraphale chides him softly, remembering how he trembled, wet and naked and rock-hard, not even one hour ago. “To answer your question: _seven_ times.”

Crowley groans, trying very hard to sound irritated. He doesn’t fully succeed.

“Now that you seem able to speak again.” Crowley scoffs at Aziraphale’s smug tone, nudging him with the tip of an elbow. “What do have to say about it? Do you feel _blessed_?”

“Not at all. I feel farther from the light of God than I’ve ever been.” He replies in an exaggerated tone. He turns around just enough to show Aziraphale his smirk. “I think the angel She sent me was a bit defective. He really seemed to enjoy himself a little too much. I’m no expert, but I don’t think they’re supposed to do that, you know?”

Aziraphale kisses the corner of his lips, Crowley’s cheeky tongue poking out to lick at him. “Well, that’s too bad to hear, dearest. Maybe you should give it another try, sometime.”

“Yeah.” He takes Aziraphale’s hand to his mouth, turning it around, kissing his knuckles. Then, he closes his eyes and exhales, enjoying the warmth of the water, the softness of his angel’s body. He smiles in earnest when Aziraphale leaves a kiss on the top of his head. “I really should.”

**Author's Note:**

> Companion piece to [Peach](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20126725), where Crowley tries his tempting powers on Aziraphale.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Seven](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21922369) by [semperfiona_podfic (semperfiona)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/semperfiona/pseuds/semperfiona_podfic)


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